OPERATION: RETURN (slow updates)
by Meowlister Memsie
Summary: "I wish I can go home in the future." When Numbuh 1 of the G:KND unknowingly makes a wish upon a shooting star, he's sent 25 years into the future with no way back. Will he ever return from 2034? [Has future kids and time travel, REWRITTEN/REVAMPED VERSION OF 2034]
1. Playlist (Updated 12292016)

**Official Soundtrack of _OPERATION: RETURN_**

 **Added (12/29/2016) and may be subject to change. Suggestions appreciated.**

* * *

i. the girl and the dreamcatcher - written in the stars

 _every single hero has to start off looking like me and you._

ii. greek fire - top of the world

 _i remember the nights caught up in dreaming my goodbyes, watching the door for anything more than an ordinary life._

iii. fall out boy - jet pack blues

 _she's in a long black coat tonight, waiting for me in the down pour outside. she's singing "baby, come home" in a melody of tears and the rhythm of the rain keeps time._

iv. lindsey stirling - something wild (feat. andrew mcmahon)

 _if you're lost out where the lights are blinding, caught and all the stars are hiding, that's when something wild calls you home._

v. g-eazy & bebe rexha - me, myself, & i (anevo remix)

 _oh, i don't need a hand to hold even when the night is cold. i got that fire in my soul._

vi. lia marie johnson - dna

 _no, i won't be like you... eyes like yours can look away, but you can't stop dna._

vii. fall out boy - the phoenix

 _hey, young blood, doesn't it feel like time is running out?_

viii. us the duo - fighting for you

 _i'll be your hero, your protector._

ix. b.o.b. - both of us (feat. taylor swift)

 _i wish i was strong enough to lift not one, but both of us._

x. fall out boy - the kids aren't alright

 _and in the end, i'd do it all again._

bonus. pentatonix - standing by

 _so will you hold 'cause time is cold? but in your soul, i'm standing by._


	2. OPERATION: WISH

**The rewritten and revamped version of the deleted story _2034._**

 _NOW LOADING..._  
 _OPERATION: R.E.T.U.R.N._

 _Recruit_  
 _Enters_  
 _The_  
 _Unknown_  
 _Right_  
 _Now_

The universe is silent. The thousands of G:KND operatives on Cyndihkit have tucked into bed hours ago. So what am I doing up at this ungodly time? To be honest, I'm not doing this on purpose. I just can't sleep at night. I never was able to do that here, and I hate it.

Don't get me wrong, I love Cyndihkit. I'm truly having the time of my life here; really, I am. The missions are all for such a worthy cause, and they provide a thrill that I wish never stops. The kids I've met are nothing short of extraordinary; their achievements and morals are just amazing. I've been getting this solid respect that apparently comes with being Earth's representative. My peers and I share this indescribable passion and unwavering goal. We're all united.

However, night is the only time I'm alone. It leaves me to my thoughts, and I hate it. With absolutely nothing to distract me, they practically eat me alive. My first weeks here, I simply went to the base's labs and did more research. If not, I was here in my room, writing mission reports at my desk. Unfortunately, some of my colleagues thought it was a problem. They ended up moving all my work to an office cubicle and locking my room at night. All I can do now is count sheep and hope for the best.

Sighing, I shift to my side. Across my small space is a round window, moonlight shimmering through. The sight is truly one to behold. The galaxies beyond are breathtaking, the stars so abundant and beautiful, it's mesmerizing. A view like this can easily take someone's mind off things. But, lucky me, I've never been one for sightseeing. I lick my lips, and I will myself to enjoy it. I fix my eyes on the distant, blue and green sphere that is Earth.

 _I wonder what's going on over there_ , I think before I can stop. But what _is_ going on? How're my friends doing, my parents? I have no way of contacting them up here, and it's driving me insane. The other day, I ran into someone with a bright orange hoodie. _Numbuh 4!_ I yelled, only to be stared down by a rather unwelcoming alien. I've had countless incidents like that. A red hat, a Rainbow Monkey, a horrible pun. It's awful.

But still, the question remains. _What's happening there?_ I'll do just about anything for even a scrap of news. Heck, if it means kissing Father, I'd do it.

 _No, no. Scratch that._ If anything, I want to be there with everyone. I want to have a spoonful of Munchies, I want to get my tongue frozen to a pole, I want to skip stones in a pond. Simple, it really is. The issue? I can't leave. I want to return soon, before anybody's decommissioned. But, by the looks of it, I'm not going anywhere in the near future.

 _The future._ I may not be able to go in the near future, but perhaps just the future? I have to return sooner or later, right? Yes. Yes, that's correct. It has to be. But how _far_ in the future?

"I will go home in the future," I mutter to myself. The sentence seems so loud, however. So loud, it's like everyone and everything heard it. "Someday in the future, I will go home."

I close my eyes in a vain hope of sleep. After all, my words should be some sort of closure. I swallow as if I can take it back, for a part of me knows that it won't happen. Opening my eyes, I frown.

 _Don't like what I said, huh, Universe? Fine. I'll fix it._

I stare into its face, and I whisper, "I wish I can go home in the future."

 _There, happy now?_

A piece of me satisfied, drowsiness finally kicks in. As I lower my lids, I gasp at a sudden increase of illumination. The gentle stream of light from the window has gained a gust of strength, and it nearly blinds me. As quickly as it came, it dies. Confusion flits through me for a split second, but I shake it off.

I flip over to my other side, and I shut my eyes. A shooting star has never had an effect on me, anyways.

 **Make sure to review!**


	3. OPERATION: EARTH

**WELCOME TO THE REVAMPED VERSION OF** _ **2034**_ **!**  
 **We hope you enjoy your stay.**

 **~Dedicated to surprises~**

Mustering up willpower, I ease my bleary eyes open. At the sudden gust of light, I shut them again. _Five more minutes never killed anybody._ Bearing that in mind, I shift to my side, and I reach to my feet to pull my G:KND-issued blanket over my head.

In an instance, I bolt upright. The light is blinding, but I've never cared less. I look to my lap to find that there is no blanket. In fact, there is no bed. I'm sitting on grass. _Grass._ I turn to my left so quickly, my neck cricks. Houses, trees, cars, sidewalks. I look up to see a leafy canopy above, which is a clear indication that I'm under a tree. But why?

Wearily, I stand with my heartbeat in my throat. I step out from the lone tree's shadows to assess my situation. Sleek, advanced automobiles are parked in driveways or by the curb. The street is dark with fresh pavement. The homes have bright, unchipped coats of paint; some even seem larger. Why do I realize the change? Because I've lived in this neighborhood for almost my whole life. Why am I here? I was hoping you could tell me.

I look at the sky, the sun just peering over the horizon. Birds at unknown locations begin to chirp merrily, and, frankly, they don't match my mood. Yes, I wanted to come home, but what kind of crud is this? It's all too elaborate to be a prank. Besides, I've never told anybody about my desires. How could they know?

As I rotate myself a full three-sixty degrees around, I notice something that hasn't changed: the treehouse. I can't find a single difference in its gargantuan silhouette. The knot of confusion and bewilderment in my gut suddenly loses weight. Surely, somebody there can make sense of all this.

A goal in mind, I brush the grass from my shorts, and I approach the sidewalk. Now, the sun has completely emerged. It casts light on everything in its path. I shake my head as if it can be cleared. I'm finally home, so I might as well make the most of it. Maybe after reuniting with the rest of Sector V and my parents, I can go out for an ice cream cone. After all, the G:KND only has the treat in bizarre and/or wildly disgusting flavors.

I train my eyes on the treehouse, and I walk towards it. It feels as if I'm not moving at all; it feels as if I'm being attracted to a magnet. For the first time in forever, I smile. My hands shake in excitement. It's so close, _so close._

After several moments of alleged attraction, I find myself on my lawn. My grin widens as I appraise the house and the tree sprouting from its shingles. My house has a new layer of paint, and it appears to have a small expansion in the back. The hedges are trimmed and the truck in the driveway is shining. Home. _My_ home. Without a second's thought, I step onto the dewy yard.

"Hey!" The voice makes me jump. I twist around to see a girl, who must be a year or two younger than I am, on a blue bike. She runs a hand through her long brown hair. "What are you doing here?"

"Um..." I glance back at the treehouse before replying. "Just visiting."

Her eyes flicker to the tree. "Who? I might be able to bring 'em out."

"Excuse me?" I've never seen this girl in my life. How can she bring someone out of _my_ house?

"The person you're visiting," she says. "I can get them."

"No, that's fine. I'll go myself." The stranger frowns, purses her lips, and pedals off. _Weird._

Deciding not to waste another precious moment, I walk to the front door. I inhale a deep breath of Earth, a part of me afraid that I'll never take another one.

I stop at the now red door, and I close my eyes. _Okay, you're home. Relax, just relax. Enjoy your time here. You gotta get back to Cyndihkit sooner or later. Preferably later._

I beam as I lift my lids. My heart pounding in my chest, I raise my knuckles. I rap on the wood, each blow taking eons to finish. I hold my breath. My throat goes dry while the seconds drag on.

Without warning, the brass knob twists in sync with my stomach. The door swings inward, and darkness is all that is visible. A hand reaches out from the depths.

"W-" I'm cut from inquiry as it clamps down on my mouth. I'm pulled in.

 **REVIEEEEEEWWWWW!**


	4. OPERATION: PARENTS

**~Dedicated to you wishers~**

I feel like crud.

My stomach gurgles in agony, and my skin is screaming in pain. My throat is unbearably parched, and my eyes feel like they were dunked in acid. _What happened?_

I lift my heavy lids a millimeter before letting them back down. Am I going to open them to my bedroom ceiling, or am I still under a tree?

Feeling foolhardy, I forced my eyes to open. I hiss as they burn at the light exposure, but I manage. As the glare clears up, I can make out a roof of wooden planks. They seem to be in no specific order, yet they appear to be sturdy. I know that style like I know my own name.

The still, overbearing silence is quickly disrupted by a scatter of footsteps that nearly makes me jump ten feet high. Gulping down bile, I shut my eyes.

"Intruder's still asleep, Numbuh 1362," a boy says not too far away. _Numbuh?_

"I see that, Numbuh 304," a feminine and authoritative voice says. "Numbuh 25, background check?"

"He's nowhere in the system."

So-called Numbuh 1362 sighs in exasperation. "I guess all we can do is wait."

"Is he bad?" a high-pitched, oblivious voice asks. "'Cause if he is, I can give him a dose of p-"

"There'll be no need for that, Numbuh 7. Gosh, Numbuh 34, how hard did you hit him?!"

"I didn't do it!" another boy exclaims. "Devan just told me that he was going to the house and that he seemed really suspicious. We can't take chances!"

"He's right," says 'Numbuh 25'. "We really can't risk another spy." _Excuse me?_ I'm no spy! If anything, they're the ones that people should be wary of.

Curiosity taking over, I open up my eyes. I grit my teeth, and I sit up. The sudden rush of blood makes my head spin to the point of slight nausea. A girl screams, and my arms are seized immediately. I wrench out of the grip.

The glare passes over, and I see that I'm in a small, wooden room. A tree branch breaks through the wall above, allowing a thin shimmer of sunlight through. I'm on a plain board of wood, and three girls stand in the doorway. I turn to my left and right; two boys flank me.

"DETAIN HIM!" a blonde girl in a purple sweater commands. In an instant, the boys grab my shoulders.

"Wait!" I blurt out before I can stop. The kids freeze. "Who are you? What're you doing here?"

"We were about to ask you the same thing," one of the boys say. "Where do you want him, Numbuh 1362?"

"Preferably out of my sight," she replies, "but I guess interrogation'll do. Numbuh 25, you're up."

I'm pushed from the makeshift bed, and I'm roughly dragged to the archway. I'd fight back, but, honestly, I'm just as confused as they are.

"W-where are the others?" I ask.

"Back there," one replies. His black hair flips a little as he motions behind us.

"No, that's not what I meant. Where's Sector V?"

" _We are_ Sector V," the other says like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"W-" I stop myself. We pass by a door, _my bedroom door._ However, instead of my own code name, _1362_ is crudely painted across. I frown, my eyes unable to look away. Up on Cyndihkit, one of the earthly aspects I've missed is this door and the number on it. It kept me anchored. I've dreamt of the day in which I see it again. And now, it's not even here anymore? Why? Did that girl that everybody's listening to taken over?

As we round a corner, the mislabeled door disappears.

I shake my head, and I turn back forward. The corridor has come to a dead end, the lighting dim. Embedded in the wood is a metal door, a stark contrast in comparison to everything else. I look at the boys' similar faces, intimidation absent in their expressions. The dark haired one catches my eye, and he flashes a sympathetic smile before I can turn away. They bring me to a halt. The boy with pity digs in the pocket of his green hoodie, and he procures a small set of keys. After selecting one, he sticks it into the lock. It whinnies open. In a second, they release and push me in. The door quickly slams shut.

The rectangular room is rather small and windowless. The only furniture is a long, wooden table and two chairs, one on each side. Upon further investigation, I notice how it appears cleaner and fresher than the rest of the treehouse. Everything is immaculate and polished, and there's not a dust bunny in sight. The scent of sawdust is fresh. This is clearly a new addition.

A sudden, quiet bang behind me causes me to turn. Before the door is a girl from the other room, her hand still on the knob. She studies me with blue, emotionless eyes, a red Snapback creating leaving them in a shadow. She tugs on her red plaid, unbuttoned flannel and adjusts her black top beneath before crossing her tan arms. I bring myself to full height, and I return the hard expression.

"Why don't you take a seat, kid?" she says in a faint yet projected voice.

"Who are you?" I ask. "Who do you work for?"

"Took the words right outta my mouth." Immediately, a light surge of dislike takes me by surprise. Though this mystery girl has done nothing to me and appears harmless, I hate her. I hate her, I hate her friends, I hate them being in my treehouse.

"I have nothing to say," I snap. "You shouldn't even be here."

She quirks a brow challengingly. "Oh, is that so? I've known this place my whole life, I've lived here for five years, and you say that I don't belong?"

Despising her suddenly becomes so much easier. She's clear a liar, a fake. I've only been gone a year, and I've never seen her. The way she can speak at such a low volume and still be heard clearly makes me so mad. Her voice is devoid of any feelings, nearly robotic. Her lips hardly move with words. She never loses her cool, never raises her voice. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

"Well, you don't. _I've_ known this place my whole life, _I've_ lived here for five years. Heck, it's even sprouting from _my_ house!"

She stares at me a moment, like she's sizing me up. "Take a seat."

"No," I say with all the defiance I can muster. "Why should I?"

"Because I have the upperhand, dishrag. Take a seat, and maybe I can work something out for you." I loudly rip the far chair out, and I obnoxiously sit with force. The girl calmly takes the opposite. She leans back, her arms crossed again.

"Who are you?" _What a clever question._

"Num-" I catch myself from falling. Never reveal to an enemy. "Name's Nigel."

She has obviously caught my slip, but she clicks her tongue and moves on. "Who do you work for?"

I assume her dramatic, calculating pause heading dialogue. "That's classified," I say with more sass than I intended. Naturally, she caught that too.

"And why is that?"

"Secret, exclusive." I resist the urge to kick her from under the table. "Who do _you_ work for?"

"Kids Next Door," she replies smoothly. "Numbuh 25, Sector V."

"That's funny." _Not._

"Why?"

"No reason, no reason." I almost smile, knowing that that's not the answer she wanted.

Numbuh 25 (if that's even her real code name) leans over the table, her elbows supporting her. "Tell me, Nigel, why you're here."

"For a walk down Memory Lane," I say.

"How'd you get here?"

"When I figure it out, I'll let you know."

"And that means?"

"Exactly what you think."

"So, you just randomly popped up here with absolutely no idea how?"

"Yep." I pop the P. Not a wave of doubt hits her. If one did, she's doing an amazing job at concealing it.

"I know this is a little late, but how 'bout some intros?" She perfects her posture and plasters a smile across her face. "My name's Kyla, but everybody just calls me Kylie. What's yours?"

"I already told you," I point out. For a split second, her professional facade cracks. It happened so fast, I just barely caught it. She pursed her lips in irritation, I saw it!

"How 'bout a last name?"

"You really don't need that. You didn't even give me yours." Just like before, she doesn't push it.

"What brings you here?" For the first time, her face softens, like she's becoming human. Trustworthy. Whether it's a trick or genuine, I don't know. "You can tell me the truth, Nigel. I'm just a V kid, ain't no Prison guard. If it's possible, I can save you from ever meeting one."

"I don't need your help," I spit.

"Perhaps not. Nigel, I know that you're just as confused as I am. You don't even know why you're here. Why did you come to this treehouse first?"

"It's the place I know best," I reply honestly, only because there really isn't any ammo in it.

"And why is that?"

"I live in the house down there. I shouldn't be interrogated for trying to go home."

"You don't live there," she says in that quiet, emotionless voice that I despise so much. "Numbuh 1362 and her family does."

"My parents must've moved out." But I know that's not true. Dad loves that place like he loves that dang tuba.

"Nobody has moved from there since, ever. It's been in 1362's family for years." I frown.

"But that's been _my_ house since I was, like, two!"

Numbuh 25 cocks her head slightly. "Do you mind telling me why you're bald?"

"Actually, yes," I say harshly. Again, she doesn't force it. She slides her sleeves up.

"Do you mind telling me why you wanted a 'walk down Memory Lane'?"

I shrug. "I haven't been here for a while. Left my parents, my friends. I just wanted to visit."

"And you believe that your Mom and Dad live in the house, and your friends are in this treehouse?"

"Yes." Numbuh 25 nods her head in an understanding I don't get.

Out of the blue, she stands up. Walking towards the door, she opens it. Turning back, she says, "Excuse me." And she's gone.

Wary of a quick return, I still myself for a solid few seconds. I hear nothing. That is mind, I rise. I try the doorknob, which, naturally, is locked.

Should I even be running? Though a bit of me is skeptical, they seem legit. However, real or not, that still doesn't explain why they're here.

Sighing in defeat, I retake my seat. Only a few moments later, Numbuh 25 slips back in. She sits, and she slides a paper across the table. As it nears and halts, I see that it is a photograph. It depicts a man and a woman, both smiling. _That's strange._

"Nigel." My name causes me to look up. "In all honesty, do you recognize the people in this picture?"

"No." I look at it again. "I've never seen them in my li-"

Mid-sentence, I begin to pay attention. The man has auburn hair, the woman has black. Light blue eyes, deep brown. Pale skin, dark skin,

Slowly, ever so slowly, those details construct a bigger picture.

It's vague, the ghost of familiarity. Something, _something_ at the back of my mind is bugging me. Words form at the tip of my tongue, but they simply refuse to make sense. As if the gods have taken pity, everything clicks into place.

"Yeah." I pick the photo up like it's a delicate butterfly. "Yeah, that's weird."

"Do you know who they are?" Numbuh 25 is resting on the table, her face intrigued and egging me on.

"Yes," I say, "but it doesn't make any sense."

"What're their names?" she asks, her eyes sparkling.

"I-" I close my mouth, preventing any further speech. "Do _you_ know who they are?"

Numbuh 25 sighs with a small smile. She leans over until our noses are a mere inch apart. "I know them, just like I know you," she whispers.

Those eight words make me shudder. They sound so sinister, so _creepy._

"W-what do you mean?"

She doesn't move. "Who are they, Nigel?"

I stare right back at her, straight into her piercing blue eyes. "Hoagie and Abby, but they're so old."

Her smile widens. "Wannna know how I know them?" She doesn't let me answer. Her voice lowers considerably, but I hear everything. "They're my parents."

 **Make sure to check out our other ongoing stories,** _ **OPERATION: SWITCH**_ **and** _ **OPERATION: DELIGHTFUL.**_

 **In** _ **OP: DELIGHTFUL**_ **, please ignore the initial constant POV changes. They do smooth out, so please stick to it!**


	5. OPERATION: SECTOR-V (Part I)

Even though I don't ship it, what if Numbuh 4 and Numbuh 86 had a kid?

THE ACCENTS

LIKE

WHAT

NO

* * *

 **~Dedicated to whatever the heck we end up doing in the future~**

Do you know that feeling you get when you hear something ridiculous, but you have to accept it as fact, even though it makes no sense? That feeling you get when the answer is crazy, but there's nothing in the world that can prove it wrong? Maybe, maybe not. But I'm no stranger to that feeling.

 _I know them, just like I know you. They're my parents._ That can't be. I mean, can it? I didn't leave too long ago. I don't know the exact time, but it definitely wasn't long enough for children. Also, Numbuh 25 seems to be my age. In matters of logic and simple math, nothing adds up.

"No, they aren't," I insist. She slides the photograph back to her. Taking a good look at it, she lets out a chuckle.

"Oh, yes they are," she says with a small smile.

"No, they aren't," I repeat.

"Well, why not?" she calmly inquires, setting the picture aside. "People have kids all the time."

"There's just not enough time!" Like always, she's emotionless. Her stare is as calculating as ever. She adjusts the position of her hat, but I don't see what's so out of place about it.

"Look at me, Nigel," Numbuh 25 says. She leans across the wooden table once again, and she fixes her eyes on mine. "Tell me I don't look like your friends."

She quirks a brow, silently daring me to say that she doesn't. _But she does._ The similarities are far too obvious. I stare into her baby blue irises, riddled with an intelligence that no one shares. The shape of her dark skinned face is all too familiar. The tip of her black ponytail rests on her shoulder, her lips twisting to form a smirk.

 _For Zero's sake, her code name is Numbuh 25._

"I do, don't I?" A wide grin finds its way onto her face. I don't have to say anything; she already knows she's right. Though that may be, a part of me refuses to accept the apparent fact. There is a rational explaination for her appearance, and it doesn't involve Numbuh 2 and Numbuh 5.

I frown. "That doesn't mean anything."

"What's my name?" a still-beaming Numbuh 25 asks, seemingly ignoring my statement.

"Kyla," I reply, doubt seeping in due to her question.

She nods. "Yes, but what's my _full_ name?"

"You never told me," I say with honesty and an indifferent shrug.

Suddenly, she pushes herself even closer to me. Our noses aren't even an inch apart, her knowing smile impossibly widens. Her knowledgable eyes sparkle.

"It's Kyla Abigail Gilligan," she whispers. "I have an older brother and a little sister. And if you still don't believe me, my brother's name should make you."

I return the unwavering stare, her alleged name fitting her perfectly. I can't imagine another one.

"What is it?" I ask.

"It's Brethren Pennywhistle. You know someone with an equally ridiculous name, don't you?" By the look on her face, I know that she doesn't need an answer. "My point exactly."

"But it _doesn't make sense_!" I insist as she pulls away.

"You're a real sucker for logic, aren't you?" Numbuh 25 chuckles. "Can't stand not having a balance, an explanation? I'll give you one. Nigel, what's the date?"

I almost laugh at the totally random question. I think back to the calandar tacked to my dorm wall, the spent days crossed out. "June twenty-something."

She nods. "June twenty-seven. Do you know what _year_ it is?"

With her inquiry, a part of me begins to doubt my response. "It's 2009."

"And _that_ ," she says with a loud clap, "is your explanation. See here, Nigel, it's not 2009. It's 2034."

It takes several seconds for me to fully register her words.

 _IT'S WHAT?_

I look to Numbuh 25, her expression passive. It's like she doesn't care that my world is currently tumbling. Can't she just give up this elaborate game and admit that it's not true? It's not true, it's not _true_! Of all the outrageous things I've heard, this is the most ridiculous by miles.

"Just think about it," she quietly begs as she catches my tacit refusal. "Please, just do it. It all makes sense now, doesn't it? Isn't this the answer you needed?"

 _No, no it's not._

Me jumping twenty-five years into the future _does not_ explain the futuristic town. It _does not_ explain the fact that nobody recognizes me. It _does not_ explain the new treehouse. It _does not_ explain its new occupants. It _does not_ explain that photograph. It _does not_ explain Numbuh 25's family.

But it does.

I open my mouth to speak, but the words tangle in my throat. As if some god has severed my vocal cords, the only sound I produce is a bated cry. Time travel may explain this, but it's too farfetched. Besides, I didn't do anything to blast myself to the future. There hasn't been any time-related disputes lately. There are machines on Cyndihkit and Gallardo, all under lock and key. I've never even seen them, let alone used them. All I've done is my job. I just completed an exhausting assignment, and I settled in for another restless night of missing home. Absolutely nothing unusual.

A sudden movement jerks me back to reality. Numbuh 25 is standing, her hand extended in a tacit offer. A mere second later, I accept it. She pulls me to my feet.

Hand in hand, she guides me to the door and down the corridor.

"Where are we going?" I ask as she leads me down the same halls those two boys had.

"Just shut up and follow me." Deciding to return the favors, I don't press it. My question promptly answered when we halt before an archway.

Beyond is a large sitting room, way different than the one I've spent many days in. Four kids, the two boys and two other girls from my awakening, are huddled around a round polished table. Their attentions are trained on whatever the table holds, their bodies still on the circular red sofa.

The first to notice our presence is Numbuh 1362, who only looked up as Numbuh 25 steps in. A frown immediately dawns on her.

"Kylie," she says, perplexed. "What're you doing?"

Almost instantly, the other three pay us mind. They appear confused, and slight disgust appears at the sight of me. _Nice._

"You do know that you're not supposed to bring out suspects," a dark haired boy asks, "right?"

My companion seems unfazed as she gestures me to her side. "He's not a threat, Ethan," she says firmly.

"You're still not to let him in here!" Numbuh 1362 exclaims. " Whether you think he's evil or not, you need to call down Beth. You of all people should know this!"

"I am aware of standard procedure," she drawls. "I _teach_ standard procedure. Just do me a favor, okay? Like up in a straight line, right in front of me."

A blonde boy gives Numbuh 25 an incredulous look. "Ky, are you _insane?_ You're showing us to the enemy! Doesn't that bother you?"

I watch her roll her eyes from my peripheral vision. "He's not the enemy. Just line up, _please._ "

"Numbuh 25," Numbuh 1362 says sternly, "by order of the Manifesto of the Kids Next Door, you can't deliberately expose an operative to a threat without Ren's consent!"

"I know what it says," she snaps. "I also know that I'm not breaking any law. Now please, for your sake and mine, _line up._ "

I can feel the tension and wariness thicken as the rest of (allegedly) future Sector V exchange glances. This is obviously not a common request. But slowly, one by one, they rise. Keeping cautious eyes on me, they stand in a single file line. Seemingly, they forget about Numbuh 25, and their cold gazes fall on me.

"What's this about?" Numbuh 1362 inquires, her brown irises never leaving mine. Numbuh 25 disregards her. She steps to the side and out of my way.

"Look at them," she says.

I resist the urge to shake some sense into her. She seemed sane in interrogation; what's with the sudden change? Is she oblivious to how much they _hate_ me? I honestly don't know where she's going with this, but, considering who she claims to be, I obey.

Warily, I approach the first kid: a blonde boy who had brought me to interrogation. I survey his face, his mint irises refusing to meet mine. For a moment, I sweep over his attire of a simple green sweatshirt and jeans. Returning to his face, which is a good eight inches above my own, I scrutinize him.

"Say your name, dude," Numbuh 25 says from the sidelines. "All of you should when he gets to you."

The boy huffs in exasperation. "Martin," he says boredly. "Call me Marty or I'll break you. Numbuh 34."

I pointedly ignore the threat as I end my appraisal. I am a well respected operative of the G:KND. I've heard much worse.

Next is my other escort. Unlike Marty, he looks at me dead in the eye. Though he already towers over me, he perfects his posture in a poor attempt of intimidation. I scan his inky blank hair, neon orange sweatshirt and jeans. His glaring eyes are framed by black glasses.

"I'm Ethan," he says coldly like tone affects me. "Numbuh 340."

Mentally shrugging off the two boys' attitudes, I step to my right to meet the next stranger. Her long, pale blonde locks fly about as she bounces on her heels, clearly having a difficult time standing still.

"Hi, hi!" she squeaks almost immediately, her face turning up due to her height. "I'm Numbuh 7, but Mommy and Daddy and Marty and Ethan and the rest of my family calls me Dove. What's _your_ name?"

Her pink lips smile brightly, sweet innocence radiating. In stark contrast to her male teammates, her warm lilac eyes don't seem to resent me. Despite her increasing movement, her white dress is in no way out of place.

"What's your name?" she repeats. At her eagerness, I almost frown. She doesn't seem to care that I'm a stranger.

"Stop that, Dove," Marty says. "You don't know who he is." Upon his command, Dove closes her mouth. Her bouncing intensifies like she can't bottle up her words.

Donning the most sympathetic face I can muster, I shift to my right again to face the final person: Numbuh 1362.

Of all the unwelcoming looks I've recieved, I think this one wins.

Her lips are pulled back in a snarl, her face ablaze with contempt. Several strands of her shoulder-length hair fall to her cheeks. I glance down, her hands balled into fists. Though she clearly doesn't like me and I really don't like her, I must applaud her for her solid will to restrain herself. Kudos.

"I'm Abriana," she spits. "Numbuh 1362, leader of Sector V." I stop myself from correcting her.

With shoulder-length golden hair and ice blue eyes, she kind of reminds me of someone; who that someone is, I don't know. Her blue long-sleeved shirt crinkles as she clutches it with shaking hands. When she realizes what she's doing, she grabs hold of her shorts.

The line over, I look to Numbuh 25. "What now?"

She fights hard to suppress a smirk. "Sorry, guys, but I forgot one thing. I forgot that I also want _last_ names, too." This time, she doesn't resist a wide grin. "Go on. I don't got forever."

All I can do is stare at the girl who is mad as a hatter. _What does Numbuh 5 feed her?_

I don't have to look at "future" Sector V to know that they are frowning too. Numbuh 25's grin doesn't waver. She has some scheme in mind, a scheme that only makes sense to her. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that she's enjoying all of this; what's so entertaining here is beyond me.

"Can I start?" I look over my shoulder and to Dove, her simple bouncing now evolved to some sort of dance. "Oh _please,_ can I start?"

"Of course," Numbuh 25 replies from behind me, mirth lacing her voice. Dove beams, her feet kicking up in the air.

"Yay!" she giggles, hyperness weaving in. "I'm Dove, Dove Beetles. And these are my brothers!"

Ethan wraps an arm around Dove's shoulders, and he pulls her to him. He holds her tight in an attempt to settle her down, fondness on his softening face. "Yeah, we're triplets."

From the corner of my eye, I see Marty smile as he watches his siblings. "That's us," he says proudly.

I can't help but admire the affection. Love has always been a little sickening to me, yes, but I think it's pretty cool how the brothers can go from cold to caring just like that. At the absolute epicenter of the term 'sibling love' are the Beetles triplets.

 _THE WHAT?_

Their claimed identities have sunken in. Their words are like a cannonball to the face.

 _ **THEY'RE THE WHAT?**_

A laugh makes me turn to Numbuh 25. "Is there a problem?" she asks sweetly, amusement in her eyes. _I've got 99 of them, and you're DEFINITELY one._

I whip back around to the alleged Beetles triplets. They certainly look like triplets, but in no way are they Beetles. This is all some sick hoax, some elaborate prank. There is no Kyla Gilligan, there is no Martin Beetles, there is no Ethan Beetles and there is no Dove Beetles. And most importantly, I am not twenty-five years in the future.

I avert my gaze from the three kids with growing resemblances to Wallabee Beetles. If I ignore them, they'll go away. Right?

"Guys," Numbuh 25 says, her grin melting into her speech, "what two KND operatives are your favorites and why?"

At this point in time, I've grown sick of her questions.

"Numbuh 3 and Numbuh 4," Marty replies without missing a beat. "Hands down. They're Elites, and they've fought in the most iconic battles ever."

Dove bobs her head in agreement. "All of our Numbuhs are after them."

Ethan grins, his sister still in his arms. "Gotta honor your father and mother."

 _YOUR WHAT?_

* * *

 **Heeeeeeeyy!**

 **So, I know that none of us have really done much lately. Jess is currently writing a new chapter for** _ **OP: DELIGHTFUL**_ **, which she promises will be out soon. She has told me that she knows exactly what she wants to happen in it, but she's having trouble putting thoughts into actual words. Just be patient!**

 **As for** _ **OP: SWITCH**_ **, Emmica is on vacation right now, so writing time is currently cut down for her. Also remember that** _ **OP: SWITCH**_ **is our bottom priority.**

 **Anyways, make sure to check out our other stories, favorite, follow and don't do anything illegal!**

 **-CHARLESTON THE DINOSAUR**


	6. OPERATION: SECTOR-V (Part II)

A very short update, but I have another chapter ready that's about two thousand words long.

* * *

~Dedicated to making people feel uncomfortable.~

The world has stopped spinning.

There is just no way. Absolutely not. I just cannot believe this! I cannot wrap my freaking head around the freaking fact that Numbuh 3 and Numbuh 4 get freaking married and have freaking triplets.

Okay, so maybe the world is perfectly alright.

But still.

From the corner of my eye, I watch Kylie snigger from behind her hand. Oh, I'd kill to know what going through her head right now.

Heaving out a sigh, I bury my face in my hands. I take several deep breaths, and I silently count to ten. Pleading to every higher deity, I lift my head.

They're still there.

The thick, overbearing quiet is broken by Dove. She begins to hum a tune I do not recognize, her feet moving to some unknown beat. The silence has obviously brought boredom upon her, so she has found a way to chase it away. Just like Numbuh 3 would.

Sensing my discomfort, Kylie clears her throat. "Well, then! It's your turn, Bri."

I shoot the interrogator a glare. "You don't have to."

"Really," Abriana drawls.

"Oh, but I must," she says, grinning. "Trust me, Bri, when I say that you're gonna thank me later."

Abriana seethes. "We need Beth," she draws out. "And we need her now."

"No," Kylie replies firmly, her arms crossing. "Ethan needs Beth now, not us."

From the sidelines, Marty waggles his eyebrows suggestively at a red Ethan.

"Ky," Abriana warns.

"Bri," she counters. "Now that we know each other's names, how about we tell them to him?"

I almost laugh at the seamless transition, but Abriana simply burns even more.

"The sooner you say your name," Kylie sings, "the sooner we can begin standard procedure."

The offer has clearly swayed the infuriated girl. She shifts her weight to her other foot and back again. She bites her lip before sending a final glare at her teammate.

"Fine," she spits. Facing me, she lets out an exasperated sigh. "The name's Uno. Abriana Uno."

 _...Oh dear, God._

Time seems to have frozen over. Several moments of absolute wordlessness pass. A weight slams into my gut and almost knocks me out. Abriana looks on, her expression turning from anger to concern in two seconds flat.

"M-" Speech suddenly becomes difficult. "My name is Uno."

The concern turns to something I cannot put my finger on.

A light footstep sounds from behind me. Life continues to fail as a hand settles on my shoulder.

"Guys," Kylie says from my side. "Meet our new guest: Nigel."

The unknown emotion slips off and turns to recognition. A slow, fear-riddled recognition. Abriana's eyes go wide as if an unblockable cannonball is nearing her face.

" _Dad?_ "

The single word suspends itself in the air. It hangs there of eons, remaining as loud and bold as it was at birth. In slow motion, the triplets catch on, the boys' jaws dropping and Dove's dance halting. Kylie leaves my sights.

The earsplitting blare of a siren goes off. The lounge is doused in red light, the nasal call unrelenting.

"Incoming call from Moonbase," a cool robotic voice drones. "Incoming, incoming. Category of assignment. Code of pants on fire."

Snapping back to reality, the kids reluctantly drag themselves from the room. They procure weapons from thin air before filing out the archway, their steps in flawless synchronization.

Except for Abriana.

Her skin stained red because of the flashing lights, she remains still. Her face is forever locked in a look of shock and terror. She can't seem to look away.

And neither can I.

"Briana!" Marty calls. Breaking from the pack, he grabs her by the arm. "We gotta go! Hurry up!"

Abriana stays in her stony position, her colleague the only reason for her movement.

"Incoming, incoming."

"Come on, we'll deal with him later," he hollers over the noise. "We have to go!"

At last, the duo reach the arch. Marty yanks some unidentifiable weapon out from Abriana's waistband, and he shoves it into her hand.

For a fleeting moment, our eyes lock. "Don't even think about doing anything," he warns. "We got security cameras and traps. Just stay here. We'll be back in a bit."

With one last burst of energy and effort, he pulls his frozen leader into the hallways. They're gone after a few seconds.

For once in my life, I'm glad to be alone.

* * *

Yo.

Yes, we are aware that none of u.s. have updated since, like, July. Sorry about that.

So, because of school and sheer laziness, all of the stories on this account will have extremely slow updates. Even with our priorities. We just don't have time, you know? I think you know.

None of our stories are abandoned. We're just horrible at time management.

Okay? Okay.


	7. OPERATION: FILE (Part I)

**Not a five-star chapter. Sue me, brutha.**

* * *

 **~Dedicated to late night conversations~**

I squint against the darkness, my hand on the wall beside me. I glance behind me for any pursuers, but I find the hall vacant. I strain my ears for any sound, but there isn't another awake person to make any. A sigh of relief escapes me. The last thing I need is a confrontation.

As I round a corner, I spot a large wall of glass. Midnight lighting shimmers through it, and soft shadows are cast across the wooden floors. I pause. A lone red truck appears on a street below. It drives away from me, the lampposts revealing its locating every now and then. The truck disappears.

Striding towards the window, I touch the cool glass. This wasn't here before. _Everything_ wasn't here before. Why did things have to change so much?

Why am I even here?

I turn around to face the opposing wall. Dozens of framed photographs are mounted on it, forming a giant album of sorts. It spreads from ceiling to floor, from left to right.

I know it's really rude to explore a place that isn't mine, but I can't bring myself to care at the moment. This is an investigation, not an intrusion. If these people are as good at their jobs as they claim, they'll understand that.

In the smack center of the sprawling arrangement is the new Sector V, the picture taken several years ago. They each hold a plaque, and graduation caps are perched on their heads. I stand on my toes for a closer look.

"Cadets Next Door," I read aloud. "Class of 2029." My eyes shift to the bottoms of the boards, and I see their chosen Numbuhs etched on them.

After giving the photo a fleeting final look, I skim its brothers. Mission celebrations, photobooth strips, birthdays. Here it is: proof that these kids indeed exist. It seems like every second of their lives has been captured and forever preserved on paper. It's like it has prepared for my arrival, ready to mess with my life.

Absentmindedly, I progress to the end of the room, my attention still on the frames. Parties, vacations, competitions...

Abriana.

I freeze midstep before I realize it. The picture is only a four, maybe five, inches tall and wide. It's a wonder I noticed the headshot. I take a moment to study my supposed daughter.

Supposed.

She eerily resembles she somebody that isn't me. A name settles on the tip of my tongue, but it refuses to make much sense. I rack my brains for identification, but I come up short.

 _Where have I seen that face before? Where have I seen the daughter that I met twenty-five years too early before?_

I blindly grope around for that spark of recognition I had with Kylie, but to no avail. _Why didn't I ask about her mom?_

 _Because you'd lose it, that's why._

Not wishing to give up so soon, I reach out and I unhook the picture from the embedded nail. I cradle it in my fingers as if it can shatter at any given moment. _Think_ , I say to myself. _Where have you seen her before?_

I stayed like that for God knows how long, just willing myself to name a name.

"Do you want an autograph with that?"

I yelp, the frame clattering to the ground. My heart begins to race at the fact that I've been caught. I turn to my left to greet the figure in the doorway.

"S-sorry," I mumble. Crouching down, I scoop the portrait back up. "I just got curious. I'll put it back."

Abriana, who, despite the time, is still in her day clothes, lets out a light laugh. "Don't stress over anything. I would've done the same thing."

I hang the picture back on the wall. After making sure it's straight, I return my attention to her. "Sure about that?"

"Well, yeah," Abriana says. "But I can only imagine what you're going through right now."

Several moments of silence pass. I give the wall one last look. "What, no insults? You actually want to have a civilized conversation?"

Raking a hand through her hair, she laughs a bitter one. "Yeah, sorry about that. But can you really blame me?"

"No, I guess not."

"Exactly." She shifts from against the door frame, half of her body moving into the illumination of midnight. Clutched in her hand is a tan folder that's thick with papers. My eyes flicker towards them, and she catches it. "Oh, these are for you."

Frowning, I approach her. She extends her arm, and I slip the heavy folder from her fingers. I flip it open.

"Huh?" I stare down at the number-filled document. I turn to the next page to see a completely unrelated profile.

Abriana bounces on her heels. "Think of it as an apology present."

"Yeah, okay." I flip through the papers of nonsense. "That doesn't explain all of this."

"Maybe if you actually read it, you'll know what it's about." I see her smile a little. "Don't tell anyone I gave you these. They'll have my head."

She reaches out, and she flips the page of digits over. "Read this one first," she advises with sparkling eyes and a smile. "I think you'll like it."

I glance at her. "Why?"

She shrugs. "I figured that you want to know about the future. Why else would you be wandering the treehouse at one in the morning?"

"Touché."

I walk to the window, and I sit down with my back to the glass. I look at the paper, the first line highlighted.

 _2010- VIII_

I furrow my brows, but I continue. It's all the same: a date and a numeral.

"And this is supposed to be?" I ask.

"The Elites," Abriana says as she settles down beside me.

"Elites," I repeat, the term foreign on my tongue.

"The ops that made history," she rephrases. "Winning battles, inventing the revolutionary things, and so on. It's the highest honor, and you get it around the time you get decommissioned."

"That's what Marty said, right?" I turn to her for an answer. "About his parents?"

She nods. "Yeah, Numbuh 3 and Numbuh 4. There's not a kid that doesn't know who they are."

I certainly know who they are.

"How does Marty, how does anybody, know who their mom and dad were?"

Abriana smiles. "We're told. See here, we keep tabs on people even after their decommissionings, so we know when they got a kid coming in. When the trips found out, they immediately got corresponding code names. I think Dove cried. Or was that Ethan?"

"What did Numbuh 3 and Numbuh 4 do to become Elites?"

"They helped defeat-" Abriana suddenly stops. A sly smirk appears on her face. "You know what? I think I'll keep that one to myself. I don't want to spoil anything for you."

I huff impatiently, but I accept her decision. Moving on, I ask, "So why did you want me to read this first?"

"That's you."

I look up. "Excuse me?"

"That's you," Abriana repeats. "This is a list of all the Elites since we began the honor in 2010. And in 2010, there were eight. You were one of them."

"Really?" I inquire. "For what?"

"Again, not telling."

For a second, I stare at the numbers outlined in yellow in elation. _If I became an Elite, does that mean I eventually go home? Does that mean I get back from 2034?_ The thought freezes me in place. Well, does it? I chance a look at the girl beside me. If I never come back, then she wouldn't be here.

I skim over the document once more, one particular line standing out.

 _2028- I*_

"Hey, Abriana?" I shift the folder over to her so she can see. "What's with the asterisk?"

She glances at it. "It means that the Elite is unofficial."

"How can an Elite be unofficial?"

Abriana shrugs. "The person wasn't formally given the title. He or she is an Elite because everyone considers them one. For example, Numbuh 0 is seen as an Elite, but he wasn't around to actually be an Elite."

"But this person is from 2028. The honor was already set up."

She exhales heavily. "Ginger Snap. She's unofficial because nobody knows who she is."

"But you do know who she is," I point out. "You just called her Ginger Snap."

"That's only a nickname we gave her."

"What did she do?"

"She blew up the lab where the villains were making Delightful viruses all by herself. After that, Ginger just disappeared. They say she got trapped in the rubble, but she was never found."

I quickly do the math in my head. "How can you not know her real name when this was only six years ago?"

"The viruses caused the Great Epidemic. All of the operatives got Delightfulized except for Ginger, who ended everything. Afterwards, the cadets that weren't included in any fighting reversed the effects to bring everyone back. By then, it was too late. Nobody remembered Ginger because the virus made them forget, and the villains had destroyed all the files."

It sounds like it came straight out of some terrible fan fiction.

Abriana leans over and thumbs to a paper in the middle of the stack. On it is a portrait a girl with long black ringlets and green eyes. On her porcelain face is a sly smirk, making it seem like she knows something that nobody else does. Even though it's just a photograph, I can feel an air of confidence.

Scrawled at the foot of it is, _Ginger Snap, 2021-2028_. The caption makes it sound like she died or something.

"The only thing we have on her," Abriana says softly.

"This is all you guys ever found?"

"The cadets," she corrects. "But you still gotta give them some credit. They're the ones that uncovered the old records. Without them, nobody would know who their parents are."

She falls silent, waiting for a reply, but I can't bring myself to give one. Her last tidbit of information has reminded me of a pounding, bothersome question. The words jumble up in my mind. I will myself to suck it up and ask, but a part of me fears the answer.

"Abriana," I say, "who's your mom?"

* * *

 **FUN FACT #1**

 **In the original series, Abriana's name was Maya.**


	8. OPERATION: FILE (Part II)

**Fangirl Problem: RUNNING OUT OF 86/60 FICS TO READ**

 **~Dedicated to deep sleepers~**

As soon as the words leave my lips, the air thickens.

Abriana picks at a blonde lock, twisting it between her pale fingers. A bit of the tension leaves as I realize that she is as uncomfortable as I am.

Good.

"I dunno if I should tell you, Dad," she says quietly, focused on her hair. "You might take it badly."

"Why?" I ask. "Do I hate her?"

"No, of course not. At least not now, anyways. I don't know if you were - are - close to her or what. I might make it weird for you."

I heave a breath. "I'm in 2034, Abriana. You can't make anything more weird than it already is."

"See, you being here is the thing. Everything is probably crashing down on you at the moment. Kylie practically made this all a game of sorts, even though it's anything but. Do you need another problem on your plate? No, no you don't."

I let her words fly around the dark room before settling down in a thick layer of metaphorical sediment. She makes sense, and I am grateful for that. But it feels like if I leave the question unresolved, it's just going to linger, like a fraying rope that you're itching to tie up.

"I don't care," I declare. "I think so anyways."

She peers at me through her lashes, still playing with that same strand.

"You're not going to freak, are you?"

"We'll see."

She frowns. "That's not a very solid answer."

"I know it's not. But who knows? Maybe I haven't met her yet."

The corners of her mouth tip up. "You have, you definitely have."

"Then tell me."

Abriana takes a deep breath, and her arms wrap around her knees. Her chin rests on them while she mulls over her words.

After several moments, she says, "Dad, you know how a lot of kids choose their codenames after their parents?"

"Yeah." Butterflies on sugar hypes release in my gut, and I don't understand why. Even if I do happen to know the girl, I won't have to deal with her that way for several more years. There really is nothing to kill myself over.

"Well, I did that too." She shifts her head so our eyes meet, her face passive. "Numbuh 1362."

Numbuh.

One.

Three.

Six.

Two.

I remain still for while as it processed.

Oh.

Maybe it's a good thing that I live and work on another planet. That way, I can avoid awkward moments. Cowardly, perhaps, but what am I supposed to think? To do? _Hey, Numbuh 362! Remember me? Yeah, we're gonna get married in a few decades and have kids! How amazingly un-creepy is that?_

No.

All the time, Abriana has been studying me cautiously as if I may whip out a grenade and pull the cord.

Now, I don't know much about 2034. I don't want to. I never even asked to be here. But I do know one thing.

I need to get out.


	9. OPERATION: FILE (Part III)

~Dedicated to the unexpected~

They say that heroes get rewarded. After all the battles they've fought, the perils they've pushed through, it's all worth it in the end. Fate takes a fondness in them, and grants them that famous happy ending. But now I know that that is not true. Fate looked at me—the legendary Numbuh 1 of the Galactic: Kids Next Door, who eventually becomes the first official Elite—and went, You know what would be hilarious?

Funny. Yep, totally. Dying of laughter. Can't breathe. Sides hurt.

Abriana, face still curious and cautious, says, "You're face is gonna stick like that."

At that moment, I realize that I'm grimacing bitterly. I stop, but the feeling is baked into my facial muscles.

Wow. Look at that floor! Such intricate detail, such innovative design! I think I'm going to stare at it now. Beautiful. Almost as captivating as this silence so thick it can suffocate a man.

Out. I want to get out, I want to get out, I want to get out.

Spotting that darned file, my hands eagerly grab it. I busy myself with the page of Elites and the story of Ginger Snap. Then, I turn to a random paper and graze over the words. And I repeat. Turn, skim. Turn, skim. Turn, skim. None of the information register to me. My fingers cramp at the effort I put in just to look busy. Just to avoid the fact that Abriana Uno exists.

Petty? Totally. Childish? Extremely. Do I care? No. For the first time in what seems like a thousand years, being rational and mature has jumped off my priority list to death.

I kind of miss them.

Instead of the thin documents, I feel stiff paper. Only then do I realize that I have finished with the documents. I have reached the end of the line.

I can't help but feel cornered.

The girl that was only trying to help me's presence is still strong. She's still there, an arm's length away with her head against the glass. I do not have to look over to know it.

"I'm sorry," she says. Those two words sound empty, like an echo.

Quietly, she pushes her way to her feet, and she leaves.

All this time, I haven't removed my gaze from the blank file that was given to me out of no obligation. It was given to me to help me understand. This file is a gift.

So I flip the papers over, and I start again.

FUN FACT

The triplets are completely my three siblings - Savannah, Mataro, and Venice - with exceptions to their names and Venice being a guy. Other than that, they are identical.


	10. OPERATION: LAW

**I'm switching to past tense. Do you mind? Yes? Okay, cool, I'm doing it anyway.**

 **Dedicated to the believers.**

Light was streaming through the tall windows of the living room when I woke up, though it was dull, indicating that it was the early hours. My head spun with bits and parts of information I had gained mere hours before, the plain file that held more papers than it should sitting on the coffee table next to me. It was like a learning hangover.

I turned on my side and tucked the pink blanket I had borrowed from Dove under my chin, feeling like the child I was not allowed to be on strict Cyndihkit. I wore a gray shirt and a pair of gym shorts that belonged to either Marty or Ethan-I couldn't tell. I rested on a panda Pillow Pet. (It was really cute and fluffy, but I didn't want to admit that.)

The treehouse was silent. Part of me was glad, part of me wanted the company. All of me wanted to apologize to Abriana. I was tempted to find her room and knock, but I didn't know if she was awake and what kind of person she was in the morning. See, I kind of valued my teeth.

After several beats of inactivity, I reached for the file. As I held it, a Post-It that was obnoxiously orange fluttered out.

 _Be ready by nine. Beth says that you are required to take the SAT on Moonbase. Sorry, standard procedure and duty and other binding things._

 _-Kylie_

I stared at the loopy handwriting for a moment. SAT? They wanted me to take the SAT? For what? And who the heck was Beth? And was it really a good idea to send a dude from twenty-five years ago to modern Moonbase?

I peered over the sofa I laid on and looked at the clock. Eight.

Sighing, I stood up and stumbled out into the hallway. The bathroom should have been right there, but the floor plan had changed. Instead, I found what appeared to be a plain white pamphlet-KND Sector V Treehouse: A Guide-taped to the wall.

I took it down and folded open the expensive paper.

 _Welcome to the Super Awesome Headquarters of Sector V!_

 _If you are Supreme Leader Senpai, our permits and licenses are in Room BQ03._

 _If you are a returning guest, hello again!_

 _If you are new here, good luck because you're not going to know what the Zero is going on._

 _Please wait until you have finished reading this complimentary informational pamphlet to ask questions._

 _Unofficial Tour Master- Numbuh 43_

 _I blinked at an image of the extravagent and complicated floor plan, important features pointed out by a bright color code._

 _If at any point you find yourself lost-_

 _[A] Just keep going left. You'll figure it out._

 _[B] *Ask a resident operative._

 _*DANGER: Resorting to this option, while most effective, will induce these words/actions from the following operatives:_

 _7-Extensive and/or irrelevant information delivered in excess ethusiasm_

 _25-Mocking French_

 _34-Mocking Japanese_

 _43-The showing of nearby and obvious solutions to your problem(s), making you feel stupid._

 _362-Scalding sarcasm_

 _Resort to this option at your own risk._

 _In the event of an emergency evacuation, please use either the clearly marked exits or jump from a window._

 _IF YOU ARE A REGULAR GUEST, REMAIN ON THIS PAGE._

 _IF YOU ARE A VIP GUEST, TURN TO PAGE 2._

Scrawled in bold, blocky writing I didn't recognize were the words THAT'S YOU! I could still smell the Sharpie ink.

 _Welcome, VIP Guest!_

 _Below are listed the amenities of this treehouse. A resident operative has clearly marked the ones you have access to._

A thick, scribbled x crossed over the entirety of the list. The unknown writing was seen again, this time in the wide margin. _Have at it. We can't really stop you._ A new person wrote beneath it in neat print. _You're practically family._

Aw.

That was basically it. After skimming over the copyright and disclaimer at the bottom, I flipped back to the floor plan and tracked my way to the kitchen. I found it after two lefts, and it was packed with the five kids around a small table.

"Morning," Marty said. He seemed to be the only one who was truly awake, as everyone else mumbled incoherently.

"Morning," I said back.

Yawning as she tiredly spooned cereal into her mouth, Kylie asked, "Did you get my note?"

"Yeah." She nodded, albeit weakly, and then she gestured towards an empty bowl and spoon. "Thanks."

Abriana, Ethan, and Dove were still out of it, though I thought Dove was by far the worst. I watched as she began to pitch forward in a sleepy daze. Unfazed, Marty's hand shot out and saved her face from planting into her food. It seemed to happen a lot.

She jumped awake with a murmur. "What'sgoingon? Mph, nevermind." She pushed her bowl away and put her head down, fast asleep. "Wake me up when we leave."

...

When everyone was ready and packed into the spacy, high-tech hovercraft I didn't know the name of, Dove still didn't wake. Shaking his head, Ethan merely scooped her up and laid her on the back seat with a unicorn Pillow Pet.

"How many Pillow Pets does she own?" I asked.

"They're not hers," Ethan replied. "They're all Marty's."

Before I could comment on that, he returned to his seat behind Kylie's cockpit. Something whirred, and the ship pulled from the dock and flew into the sky.

With Dove passed out in the back, Ethan and Kylie in the front, and Marty hurrying around the place to monitor, I was left with Abriana by my side. I looked, and I saw her writing on a paper clamped to a notebook.

"Abriana," I said quietly, to which she looked up. "I just wanted to say sorry about last night."

She blinked, but she quickly waved her hand dismissively and returned to her work. "Don't even worry about that, Dad. It's fine. It was just a lot at once."

"Okay. So, we're good now?"

She glanced at me, confused. "We weren't good before?"

"We were good? We are good?" I asked.

"Of course," she replied. "Don't be stupid."

"Five minutes 'til landing!" Kylie called from the pilot's seat.

"Okay then," Abriana said. She got up and sat back down on the seat beside me, paper and book on her knee. "When we land, you will officially be considered a UF, or an undetermined figure, and have to go to a trial to see what side you're on and what we'll do with you. For that, we'll be meeting up with a lawyer to help plead your case and hopefully get you a positive verdict."

"Lawyer?"

"Don't worry, we got you the best one the organization has to offer. With her reputation and credibility, the odds are overwhelmingly in your favor.

"Anyway," she continued, "the Supreme Leader will be the one deciding your fate, so you better stay in line and not do anything your lawyer says no to.

"Essentially, you'll explain that this is all a total accident and you mean no harm, and Numbuh 52'll say whether or not that is enough for clearance. Simple."

I huff, a little frustrated in all honesty. "So I'm just gonna straight up say that I'm your 2009 dad and hope he believes me?"

"Exactly."

"Abriana?"

"Mm?"

"I'm worried."

"Don't be! You'll be fine!"

"No, I won't!"

"If not fine, then what will you be?"

"You're smart, right?"

"Kind of?"

"What's a plane wrapped helically around a vertical axis?"

"Screwed."

"There you go."

...

I was so screwed. Totally, infinitely, utterly screwed.

To begin with, my own lawyer didn't seem to buy my story.

Kylie had dropped us-excluding Dove, who we let stay asleep in the back-off at Moonbase and left to find parking.

Under any other circumstances, I would've been in captivated awe of the new Moonbase's structural integrity. _Grand_ was the word that described it. The ceiling was high and arched, exposing the spatter of stars outside. Bridges stretched above our heads and glass elevators smoothly rose to other floors. I couldn't have named the materials even if I had tried. It seemed like a work of art, and if it weren't for the cleverly placed strips of duct tape and Elmer's glue, I would have thought it was the handiwork of an adult.

However, considering I was on my way to a trial, I was quickly herded by the remaining three members of Sector V into an elevator. It flew up and the door slid open in a matter of four seconds. Abriana then grabbed my arm and pulled me into a circular room with a desk.

My companions swiftly flashed the secretary what I assumed to be their IDs. When he nodded his approval, they guided me into a hallway that branched out.

We walked past several polished doors before stopping at one by the end. Without even knocking, Ethan suddenly slammed it open and screamed, "Guess who's here, motherfu-"

"Ethan Roshi!" a voice screeched for inside.

"Right, sorry." He stepped back as he closed the door. He opened it again, this time quietly. "Good evening, Miranda," he said respectfully.

By then, I had reached the doorframe. When I looked inside, a girl was seated behind an impeccably arranged desk, glaring at Ethan.

"That's Numbuh 834 to you, Numbuh 34," she replied crisply. She turned to me, her hazelnut eyes boring into my soul. "I presume you're Nigel?"

I nod. She stuck out a hand, which I took after a few steps forward. Her nails were neatly varnished with a navy blue. The small but professional office smelled of cherries. "Nice to meet you."

Miranda waved at the two black suede seats before the desk. I sat down, my daughter-ugh, even thinking that is not good for my digestive system-beside me and the Beetles standing behind us.

"Let's get started right away," she told me. From a drawer I couldn't see, she produced a plain file and opened it to the only paper inside. She plucked a pink glitter Good Morning Rainbow Monkey pen from a cup-which was simply begging for my amusement. "Full name?"

"Nigel Uno," I replied clearly. If she was shocked in any way, she hid it well. I couldn't help but be reminded of when Kylie had grilled me.

"Gender?"

"Dude."

"Age?"

"Twelve." I glanced at Abriana. "Or am I thirty-seven?"

She didn't seem to catch that last part. "Height?"

"Five foot five."

"Weight?"

"I don't know."

"Any criminal record?"

"No."

"Reason for requiring a lawyer?"

"Standard trial."

"Affiliation with the KND?"

"Operative."

"Any family in the KND?"

I began to sweat. "Um..."

"Is there someone I can put as an emergency contact in the case that you are unavalible?"

"Sector V, I guess."

"Primarily?"

"Numbuh 1362."

"Relationship with you? Friend, girlfriend?"

"Daughter," I said. "That's kind of what we need to talk to you about."

Miranda paused in her furious writing, looking between me and the sector head who I was only slightly older than. "Look, man, I'm not here to judge you for your preferences-"

"No!" I exclaimed with my hands flying up at her words. "No, no, no. You see, I accidentally time-travelled -"

"Accidentally?"

"- here from twenty-five years ago. I'm Numbuh 1362's twelve-year-old dad. I don't know how I got here, and I don't know how to get out. I mean no harm at all, whatsoever. I'm just trying to survive here."

Miranda studied me, lips pursed and head tilted. She said, "Do you have any proof?"

"Short of a parental test, no," I replied.

"Can any of you provide some?" she asked Abriana, Marty, and Ethan. "Any credible testimonies?"

"Numbuh 3621 was the first to see him," Marty said, "then me. She called me up at about eight in the morning on the twenty-seventh. She said there was a guy, Nigel here, at her front door claiming to live there, and that I should go and take care of him."

"As you can see from the bruise on his face," Abriana added.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

Miranda took note of it. "I'll have to have her sign on it. Who did the follow-up?"

"Numbuh 25," Abriana continued. "She performed a law-abiding interrogation and deemed him safe."

"And what gives her the authority to say that? How do you know she was not coerced or has been in league with Nigel in the first place?"

Abriana sucked a breath in. "Numbuh 834, with all due respect, Numbuh 25 is a celebrated operative with an advanced degree in alien grilling and affairs," she said, stern and angry. "She has had side-by-side training with Heads, and she has been considered for those positions multiple times. My sister is loyal and has passed every Secret Allegience Test thrown at her. Marty has been a certified social security guard since the age of six, and he leads a cohort of SAT-approved ops. Ethan is my second-in-command. He has three purple hearts, one of which is from a month of Delightful captivity. Even then he did not betray us in the slightest. So help me Zero, if you start on Dove..."

She took a ragged breather.

"Miranda," she said, much quieter this time, "I am begging you right now! Please stop questioning the credibility of renowned operatives and save my dad! I came to you for a good reason. Please don't let me down."

* * *

 **Roshi? Get it? Like Dragon Ball?**

 **I'll see myself out.**


	11. OPERATION: ONE

**Dedicated to miracles.**

Abriana's outburst blanketed the office, the air turning stuffy and thick. Though the others continued as normal, I knew they felt it too.

Eventually, my daughter (ugh) began answering questions for me. I was about to protest, as it was my trial, but ultimately did not interfere. She had better replies than I had.

The meeting wound down to an end when Miranda passed me an envelope. It was a classy creme paper that was weighted and felt expensive. A red wax seal bearing a stylized design of the KND was stamped on the back.

"These are the official details of your trial," she said. "You won't need to open it or give it to anyone unless prompted by someone who's at least a centurion or a Nine. Don't lose it."

"A Nine?" I asked as I turned the envelope in my hand.

"A person in the Squad Nine," she unhelpfully expained.

"There's sort of a caste system around here," Marty supplied, "based off of position. A One is like a traitor or prisoner. Two is a cadet. Three is an intern. Skip to Nine, which is a a sector leader. It goes on like that until Twelve, which is the Soopreme Leaduh."

"As in Ren," I said.

"As in Ren," he agreed.

Or a king. I'm basically going to face a king. Prior to today, meeting the Leaduh wasn't so intimidating. What changed? Oh, yeah. My chances of returning home rides on this.

"What does that make you guys?" I found myself asking.

"Because I work on the Moonbase justice system," said Miranda, "I'm a Ten. Bri is a Nine, as are the rest of Sector V. They should be Eights as sector operatives, but because of their great contributions and acclaim, they were bumped."

Ethan feigned a blush. "Aw, Miranda—"

"Shut up."

"Sorry."

"Anyway," she continued, "trial's in two days at noon sharp. Be appropriate and meet me on the third floor. Clear?"

"Crystal," I replied.

"Good." She extended her hand across her polished desk, and I took it. "Nice working with you."

"As to you." Sector V and I rose. "Thank you."

"My pleasure." We started towards the door when she added, "Can I talk to you real quick, Numbuh 1362?"

If Abriana was surprised, she didn't show it. "Of course." She turned to us. "Kylie is with Numbuh 312. Go join her."

The heavy wood door slammed in my face before I could protest.

* * *

Flipping her honey blond hair over her shoulder, Abriana took her father's vacant seat. She looked her friend in the eye as she sat down herself.

"For starters," Miranda said, "I'd like to apologize for earlier."

Abriana waved dismissively. "Don't worry about it. It was nothing."

"Well, I shouldn't have questioned you."

"Your reaction was understandable," she responded calmly. "It is an unusual situation."

"Oh, I'll say. This is going down in the books, The People v. Nigel Uno."

The two girls let out hearty laughs before settling into a mutual silence.

Perhaps a minute a passed before Abriana said, "All jokes aside, though. What're our chances?"

"Brutal honesty?" Miranda asked, to which she received a nod. "Dang near impossible."

She waited several beats. She expected her companion to deny it, but all she did was cast her eyes down in resignation. It seemed that the lawyer's words only confirmed her belief.

"You know how Ren is," Miranda elaborated. "Rational in every way possible."

"If it isn't logical, it's nothing." She threw her head back onto her seat, eyes fluttering closed. "Our case and reputations won't mean jack to him."

"It might," came the empty attempt at consolation. "Nines and a Ten. You know how it works. The higher up you are, the more valuable and trustworthy your words get."

"Yeah, I guess." Her voice was offhanded and lofty. Nearly wishful.

They said nothing for an undeterminable amount of time. They simply sat there in amicable silence, almost forgetting the impending court case and what was at stake.

"Miranda?"

"Mm?"

"Legally, what is my dad?"

There was no response for so long, Abriana thought her question fell on deaf ears. When her friend finally spoke, she sounded defeated. It chilled her inside and out.

"A One."

* * *

The envelope felt like a rock in my hands. Or perhaps a hot potato—if I hold it for too long, I'm out. Marty seemed to sense my discomfort. Wordlessly, he took it from me and delicately slid it into his sweater pocket.

The three of us boarded an elevator, and Ethan punched a button with a l engraved upon it. I watched the various floors fly past me as we sank. I couldn't help but feel as if I was descending into the depths of an inescapable hell. I should not have. After all, I was in my beloved Moonbase—albeit physically altered. It was a home that would always welcome me. Always. At least, I hoped so.


End file.
